


Static [podfic included]

by Alien Reads (IneffableAlien), IneffableAlien



Series: Alien Reads (podfics) [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Crowley Angst (Good Omens), Gen, Punishment, Random & Short, Seven Deadly Sins, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/Alien%20Reads, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: It's not love, but it's everywhere.  All over here.  Flashes.Everywhere.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Alien Reads (podfics) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675000
Comments: 19
Kudos: 45





	Static [podfic included]

**Author's Note:**

> **[Listen on Google Drive](https://drive.google.com/open?id=15MxTuGBhzxUOXUF9lXnrSoA5hkEwFbyu).**

It didn’t always cause him searing pain. But that didn’t mean it ever felt good.

Crowley suspected that some of the demons who seemed to feed off the ugliest things humanity had to offer, as Hastur did, had really just developed a coping mechanism for it. If they could convince themselves that they only derived enjoyment from it, then maybe they could fool themselves into believing they had a choice in bringing more of it into the world. Perhaps they eventually did come around to enjoying it, in some macabre, masochistic sort of way, “fake it ’til you make it” and whatnot.

Perhaps they just went stark raving mad, that could explain a lot, too.

Crowley had often wondered if Aziraphale ever believed Crowley enjoyed it, reveled in it, even. He wondered how much dripping distaste for him that would have to leave smothered on Aziraphale’s tongue, if Aziraphale sincerely thought that humanity’s sins rippled warmly through Crowley like some exotic pleasure.

Aziraphale behaved more as if it had never even occurred to him to think about it one way or the other, but Crowley had trouble believing that to be true. Aziraphale was far too clever not to have mapped some kind of pattern after all this time, maybe those events and places which left Crowley more snappish and defensive, no matter how hard Crowley tried to hide his soreness. But if Aziraphale was merely trying to save Crowley some modicum of dignity by pretending he did not notice, well, that was fine, too. The last thing Crowley wanted was his pity.

Or did Aziraphale still honestly believe that God would never inflict both extremes on Crowley? Surely if the holiness of a church visited agony upon him, then She would never cause him direct injury from being on metaphorical home ground as well?

It went without saying that Aziraphale could sense love. It was a component of all Seven Virtues, and angels were forever lured to those, chasing starstreams of goodness tracking from all around the globe. One might logically assume then that the reverse would be true, that like was always called to like. It wouldn’t appear to make sense that a being could be so poorly designed as to exist in a constant state of battle, repelling its own function like two magnets.

(But that had never been the intended design, had it? That had never been the purpose. Or had it been? _Something something ineffable,_ Crowley thought with emptiness.)

It would defy reason to expect the waves that battered Crowley’s hips and sides so hard that he hardly ever remembered how walking worked. There was the bravado he had forced on himself at the airbase, so nobody would look too closely at how he swaggered in grotesque caricature of himself.

Granted, he couldn’t hide it when Satan split the earth not long after, but that was understandable. The crippling pain of facing a furious occult master had to be enough to throw any body to the concrete.

A perpetual state of thread-thin pinpricks, migraine-bright and burrowing into the shredded thing he could only call a soul for lack of a better word. And the world at large certainly wasn’t becoming more virtuous, nor was the population getting any smaller. 6,000 years of increasing feedback from damning in action. 6,000 years of Vice static.

That was Her punchline, though, wasn’t it?

Why else would it be his job to make more of it?

**Author's Note:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
